So you’ve decided to move to the country where owning a horse is actually the easiest part of owning a horse.
Moving to Tombstone with my Wyatt has been full of adventures but none more exciting than livestock ownership. Having had cows, hogs, emu’s, chickens, bunnies, and a variety of other livestock it must be said that there is most definitely an easier way to get a meal on the table. Horses however, do not fall in the meal category in my book, and if they fall in anyone else’s category of a meal I for one certainly do not want to know about it.
Seeing these majestic animals running free through the many open pastures here in the foothills, makes ones heart warm and creates a keen desire to own one of these creatures. It’s not difficult to find a horse in these parts, it’s just hard to find a good horse. After all, who in their right mind would sell a ‘good’ horse?
After months of searching Wyatt came across a man willing to part with his ranch horse that had ‘raised’ many of his children. ‘Raised’ infers that young children rode him with ease. Sounded perfect for us. Wyatt, wanting to make my wish of owning a horse a reality, purchased said horse…all 16 hands of him. We were now proud horse owners.
Sounds good right? Well, keep reading.
See, being from the city, a small city but still a city, we were painfully uneducated in horsemanship. I knew what one was and that when they stepped on my toes it hurt. But riding one? Nope. Caring for one? Nope. A local rancher told me it would come to me. It was as natural as riding a bike. If you saw the scars on my chin from when I learned to ride a bike as a child you would know there was nothing natural about riding a bike, not in my world.
So after the purchase of more equipment than I had ever needed for a newborn baby, and bales of food that seemed to double in size as it was processed and then discarded by the horse, I was ready for a ride. I saddled up my beautiful horse whispered sweet nothings in his ear and attempted to get on. I had to stand on a bucket to reach the stirrup. Just as I was about to put my foot in the stirrup the horse would lazily step 6 inches to the side, leaving me with my foot hanging in mid air and no place to put it. I would get off the bucket move it closer to the horse and try again. Again he would step slowly to the side and I would miss my mark. If a horse could laugh, I was certain he would have been. (Picture Mr. Ed.)
Watching this from inside the house was my ever loving Wyatt, no doubt wondering how to clean up the coffee he had spit out when he laughed at the show. He looked at our passle of kids, the clean kitchen, the stew cooking in the pot and the fresh laundry folded on the table and knew he had to make sure when I finally got astride the beast I was safely enclosed in a riding ring, because living without me would be a nightmare.
Months later I am riding well, as well as could be expected from a novice riding a horse with a high IQ when Wyatt decides he should try this horse riding thing. Let me say right now that testosterone is a very dangerous hormone.
Follow Wyatt’s horse adventure in my next column.
My horse was my faithful companion for 11 years until he passed naturally at a ripe old age of 28. He was gentle, kind, and could honestly feel my moods and change his actions to suit my needs. He played the move 6 inches game up until the day he died. He never got tired of it.
When thinking of owning a horse challenge yourself with this basic question: Am I willing to admit that a horse may have a higher IQ than myself?
Until next time…welcome to the country.
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